


gorehound, hellbound, horror movie lover

by sourcheeks



Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Country Boy Marcus Parks, F/M, Reporter Ben Kissel, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourcheeks/pseuds/sourcheeks
Summary: This was an important case. 13 people had gone missing so far. No abnormal behavior leading up to the disappearances, no one suspicious hanging around, no common thread between them except one thing - they'd all gone missing from the same small town, and they'd all left without a trace. No signs of a struggle, no packed bags, no notes.No bodies.
Relationships: Ben Kissel & Henry Zebrowski, Carolina Hidalgo/Marcus Parks





	gorehound, hellbound, horror movie lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [picht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/picht/gifts).



Ben does try his best to be diplomatic. He's sure Texas is a fine place full of fine folks. That didn't mean he had to be happy about uprooting himself and moving halfway across the country. 

It was worth it, though. This was an important case. 13 people had gone missing so far. No abnormal behavior leading up to the disappearances, no one suspicious hanging around, no common thread between them except one thing - they'd all gone missing from the same small town, and they'd all left without a trace. No signs of a struggle, no packed bags, no notes. 

No bodies. 

And these were important people, pillars of the tight-knit community. Teachers, clergy, politicians, law enforcement. They had families. People had noticed the disappearances as soon as they started. Ben had  _ never _ seen that before. There was always some string of disappearances that were previously thought to be unconnected, sex workers and homeless people, usually both. But not here. 

“I don’t have any idea who it is,” Ben complained over the phone, staring at his work laptop. “I mean - I can’t seem to figure out any connection between them? There’s a lot of overlap between  _ some _ of the victims, but none of it fits  _ all _ of the victims. I mean - they don’t even all go to the same church! There are only three churches in town!”

Henry sighed. “Well, shit, Ben, you’re supposed to be our guy on the ground. Have you talked to anyone?”

Ben grimaced. “People have… not been receptive to interviews.”

“So don’t ask for interviews. Just go out. Talk to people. Thirteen fuckin’ people are dead, Kissel, conversation’ll swing that way eventually. 

“We don’t know that they’re dead,” Ben protested. 

Henry was silent on the other end of the line. 

“Okay, okay, fine!” Ben groaned. “I’ll go out, but I don’t know if people are gonna talk to a stranger. Most of them probably already know I’m a reporter. Small towns don’t like outsiders, Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you got that small town boy charm! I’m sure you’ll win everyone over.”

“I’m glad one of us is sure,” Ben grumbled. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Henry.”

Ben really did have a knack for winning people over. He stuck out in a crowd - he was  _ huge, _ he couldn’t exactly hope to blend into the background. Instead, Ben blended in by just inserting himself into the scene. A 6’7 stranger watching the room silently was weird. A 6’7 stranger engaging you in conversation was just a tall stranger. 

You’d think with over a dozen people dead, folks might be a bit more somber. But the bar seemed like every other dingy small-town bar Ben had ever been in. This was a theme he’d noticed over his years of investigative journalism. No matter what had happened, bars stayed just the same. 

Ben ordered himself a beer and scanned the room. A few people were giving him looks, but most of them seemed engaged in their little groups. There was one pair staring at him, but in a different way than everyone else who was staring at Ben. The two of them were at a pool table, whispering to each other, and they kept grinning and glancing over at Ben. 

There was his opening. 

“Hey there!” Ben let the Wisconsin edge into his accent more than he ever did in New York. The stranger in the cowboy hat grinned at him. 

“Hey there yourself. You’re that guy from New York, right?”

“Stevens Point, Wisconsin, actually, by way of Brooklyn.” Ben smiled back. “Ben Kissel. Mind if I play with you guys?”

“No problem.” The stranger with the blue hair smiled at him. “I’m Carolina, this is my husband Marcus. Are you investigating the murders?”

“The  _ disappearances,” _ Marcus corrected her. “No one knows if they’ve been murdered.”

Carolina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Are you investigating the  _ disappearances?”  _

“I am, yeah. And I don’t know how close you two have been following it, but it’s a  _ really _ weird case.”

Marcus looked like he’d been waiting for an excuse to talk about it. “It is! Carolina and I have been following it. Really freaky stuff. Weird for someone to start that big, right? Like - the first missing person was a  _ pastor,  _ whoever did this had to know people would miss him.”

“Marcus knew something was wrong after the first disappearance.” Carolina nodded.

Marcus chuckled. “Aw, you make it sound like I’m a detective or somethin’. Just - stuff like that don’t happen here. I mean, we’ve had bad things happen before, but nothing… nothing like  _ this.” _

“I've never seen anything like this  _ anywhere,” _ Ben mumbled to himself. “Just… it’s weird. Don’t have a face for him yet.”

“How do you know it’s a him?” Marcus’s teeth are sharp and yellow when he smiles. 

Ben shrugged. “Almost all serial killers are.”

“Except black widows, right?” Carolina interjected. 

“Except black widows.” Ben nodded. 

Marcus leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You ask me, I say this guy’s doing us all a favor.”

“Babe,” Carolina scolded. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“I’m just saying what everyone is thinking!” Marcus huffed. “He’s cleaning up this town and we owe him a thank you. And you can quote me on that, Mister Kissel.”


End file.
